"Sherlock"

Well, my eye's still extremely painful and swollen, but I went to the doctor's today and was prescribed some eyedrops. I desperately hope they work, because I don't know how much more of this I can take. On the plus-side, my fingers are pretty much healed now. The thumb's still bleeding, but it's hurting less. It's been a crazy, crazy week.

I didn't know the BBC was making a modernized Sherlock Holmes series until a few days ago, and when I did find out, I was pretty skeptical. I'm something of a Sherlockian, and modernizing classics usually just feels cheap and gimmicky to me--not something I can enjoy. I was also a bit intrigued though, for a few reasons:

1) The actors playing Holmes and Watson
2) Stephen Moffat is one of the series creators
3) The preview didn't actually look that bad. In fact, it looked . . . good?

So, last night, when unable to sleep due to my eye hurting so much, I tracked the first episode (which apparently aired on the BBC on Sunday) down and watched it. And I actually really, really enjoyed it! It wasn't perfect by any means, but it was extremely good. The dialogue is quick, witty, and well-written as well as well-delivered. Both Holmes and Watson are spot-on, and I think I can say with confidence that they are the best Holmes-Watson duo I have ever seen on screen, save only perhaps the Soviet version. Although living in the present-day, their personalities are perfect, as well as their mannerisms, ways of speaking . . . I loved it.

I didn't appreciate the few 'Holmes might be gay!' gags in the script. Sure, they were just intended as humorous nods towards those fans who maintain it's the truth, but I cannot stand that viewpoint which is irreverent to the characters and canon. I was able to ignore them for the sake of the rest of the story's excellence, and luckily there aren't that many. There were other, more welcome shout-outs to canon-fans, like a surprise appearance from one Mycroft Holmes and a tantalizing hint at the future appearance of Moriarty.

The story itself was very predictable to me, and probably to anyone who's read "A Study in Scarlet", but the actors' performances as well as the style with which the episode was told kept it from being dull. I don't know if it'd be predictable for anyone who hasn't read the story, but anyways. By the end I was both impressed and amused at how the writers changed and updated the canon and yet kept the spirit and the characters the same. Watson isn't an idiot, and instead is a very capable doctor, war veteran, and excellent shot with a gun, as in the original stories (even if he is missing his mustache), and Holmes may not smoke a pipe in this version but he has the perfect blend of charisma, arrogance, and cold intellect, as well as a glimpse or two of an emotional vulnerability which is entirely canon. All in all, the episode (entitled "A Study in Pink") was a perfect opening to a new Sherlock Holmes saga, I can't wait to see the next episode this Sunday, and I hope more episodes are made after these three.

Interested? Then watch these:

Trailer:


Scene from "A Study in Pink":

My Life as a Cyclops

I've got a stye in my right eye, so my vision is currently both painful and impaired. Not only that, two fingers on my left hand are swollen and painful, apparently after contracting an infection of some kind. And on top of that, I have a dentist appointment tomorrow. Life is not treating me kindly the past few days.

On the brighter side of things, my feis over the weekend went really well. I got to spend time with friends, dance with friends, and managed to nab second place in my Championship, which is no mean feat considering I'm still newly back into the competitive field. So hopefully my various ailments will clear up soon so I can get back to practicing.

I still have not seen "Inception", so please don't spoiler me. That's yet another thing on my to-do list once I can see properly again.

Augh, eye hurts, so I'm signing off. I'll come back again once I can both type and see without pain :(

Books I Currently Want to Read:

• The Napoleon of Notting Hill, by GK Chesterton
• The Light Beyond the Forest,
  
• The Road to Camlann,
• The Minstrel and the Dragon Pup,
• Chess-dream in a Garden,
• Flame-colored Taffeta,
• Bonnie Dundee,
• Song for a Dark Queen,
• Brother Dusty-Feet,
• Sun Horse, Moon Horse,
• Blood Feud, by Rosemary Sutcliff
• Phantastes,
• Lilith, by George MacDonald
• True History, by Lucian
• The Mahabharata
• The Achilleid,
  
• The Thebiad, by Statius
• The Throne of Scone, by Patricia Kennealy-Morrison
• The Color of Magic, by Terry Pratchett
  

Toy Story 3: What Starts as a Review Ends as a Meditation on Why I Cried

I finally got to watch "Toy Story 3" today, after months of waiting. Going to the preview screening of the first half of the film was awesome, but of course it meant I was stuck on a cliffhanger for a looong time, haha. I read a few reviews before going, but deliberately stayed away from spoilers; I prefer to see movies without knowing that much about them beforehand, which is also why I'm staying away from "Inception" reviews right now. I couldn't help but gather, however, that TS3 made numerous people cry. I thought this a good sign, but of course people have cried in past Pixar films too--my younger brother still tears up whenever he watches "Up", and Jessie's song in "Toy Story 2" is heartbreaking every. single. time. I expected "Toy Story 3", therefore, to continue Pixar's tradition of creating thought-provoking, heart-touching, funny and sweet and complex and beautifully multi-layered films (with the exception of "Cars". Sorry, I just don't connect with that one).

So did it? Well, in my opinion--yes, absolutely. It was funny, scary, excellently plotted and paced, gorgeously animated, and forms a very fitting and natural end to the Toy Story saga. I remember watching the first "Toy Story" when I was four years old very clearly, because it was the first time I really lost myself in a film. I had favorite movies before then, and I had loved films before then too, of course. But while watching TS in the movie theatre, I quite literally lost myself in it. It was only when my friend's mom nudged my shoulder to offer me popcorn towards the end of the movie that I came to my senses with a jerk, suddenly aware of being in a large, dark room, surrounded by strangers. I was disoriented, dizzy, and confused. I had forgotten where I was, being so swept up into the story on the screen that I had temporarily entirely left my own.

That experience hasn't ever happened to me again. Sure, there are movies I absolutely adore and have been swept up into--the Lord of the Rings trilogy comes to mind, as do many others: "Star Trek", "Ratatouille", "Pan's Labyrinth", "The Princess Bride", "Lawrence of Arabia", and most recently "How to Train Your Dragon"--but I always, at least at the very tip of my subconscious, am aware that I am watching something on a screen, am aware of my surroundings, am aware of my own body and self independent from the story I'm watching. That kind of pure absorption only happens to me now when I read a really good book. Perhaps a magical experience like that cannot happen more than once. Perhaps I've grown up too much.

"Toy Story 3" did not make me forget where I was while watching it. I laughed, and listened for the sounds of other people laughing with me. I glanced at my siblings sitting next to me to gauge their reactions to certain spots. I readjusted and readjusted my 3D glasses (Yes, I did see it in 3D, but it was on discount and definitely worth it). TS3 didn't work the magic of making me lose myself utterly in film. What it did work was the magic of making me cry.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a hardened sort of film-watcher. It's actually painfully easy to get me emotional. I've teared up while watching many, many films. The beginning of "Up" made my eyes swim. I still get a painful lump in my throat when I watch Frodo farewell Sam at the Grey Havens. "Ice Age" has a few scenes that almost bring me to tears. It is, however, difficult to get me to actually weep. I could probably count the times that's happened on one hand. But it's time to add "Toy Story 3" to that select list, because it didn't just make me drop a tear or two. I had tears streaming down my face, dripping from my chin. I had to clench my jaw to keep from sobbing aloud. I wept even as the credits began rolling, and when I did manage to finally compose myself, I tried to talk about the movie with my mom on the drive home and started crying again.

I was stabbed in an emotional solar plexus I didn't even realize previously that I had.

St. Augustine, in his "City of God" and "Confessions", condemns plays and fictions as sinful, because they can compel us to feel emotions for things that are not real, thereby (according to him) hardening our emotions against distressing realities. St. Augustine was a great theologian and a great man, but I think he's not quite right on this one. It's true that film can, in some ways, desensitize us, but it can also strike our hearts in ways that make us better people. During the scene that caused me to cry in "Toy Story 3", I was overwhelmed because I sympathized with Woody and acutely felt what his character was going through, but in addition to that, I sympathized with Andy, just as fully as I did the toy protagonist. That in itself doesn't really disprove Augustine's argument about fiction damaging the viewer. What does, however, is that the grief I felt wasn't really just about pictures on a screen; it was about myself. When Andy's brilliantly animated face subtly flickers through a myriad of expressions, I knew what he was feeling, and knew it like a knife, because I have felt it too. I didn't ache for Woody just because he was a character I liked; it was because I've had to struggle with goodbyes and uncertainties as well. What Pixar manages to do in this film is not merely get me to sympathize with the characters, but actually through them sympathize with myself. That may look like Andy and Woody up on the screen, but it's also me. I see hard choices and issues and fears that I've had to tackle in my own life, the things one usually just grits one's teeth about and plunges through somehow without letting emotion get in the way--and it's like living those moments again, but now I can shed a tear or two not only for the hurt but also in relief because I know I've made it through difficult times and I can see that reflected in the story unfolding before me, too. Okay, so perhaps Augustine would still think I am a nutcase. But as Gandalf so wisely says, 'Not all tears are an evil.' I cried, sure, but I'm not embarrassed about it. It was something of a healing experience, as silly as that sounds. The last act of the film was one of the most perfect moments of cinema I have ever watched. One of the most painful parts of growing up is struggling to say goodbye to a childhood that slips away so gradually you tend to lose it before even realizing it's gone. "Toy Story 3"'s final moments basically serve as a beautiful distillation of childhood, mine, yours, and everyone's; childhood in a concrete form that you can really say goodbye to and finally get some real closure for.

So I guess I did kind of become absorbed in the film after all, but not to the point of losing myself, as I did all those years ago when I was a five-year-old kid on a playdate with a friend. This time, I lost myself in the film deep enough to find myself in it. And that's a special kind of magic all of its own.

A Brief Bit of Background For My Novel

Just look at all the alliteration in the title of this post, oh joy!

Seriously, though, here's some of my novel. Well, not the novel per se, but rather a very shoddy rendition/summary of an important bit of history which will play a large role in at least a few main characters' personalities and actions. I plan to use a more polished rendition of this legend in my book itself as a sort of prologue, or introduction into the story. I say legend now because of course this version of history is obviously romanticized and important only to the heirs of Eitoken himself; most men at the time of my novel couldn't care less about Elves, ancient oaths, and anything like that. A main theme of my book is the nature of a story itself: What makes a story important? What makes it true? How important in deciding both is the simple act of believing? I love reading old histories like those of Tacitus and Herodotus, where the line between fact and fiction is beautifully blurred (we modern readers cannot always tell what parts of a story are true, and what are fantastical, often having to decide for ourselves what to believe), and therefore am extending that sort of mentality into my own novel, particularly in the character of Eifton, one of Eitoken's descendents. He fiercely believes in the old legend recounted below, even if no one else in the world does. And this belief strongly influences his behavior. To paraphrase one of my characters: "It is the custom now to wait and watch because the story tells us we must. But the story was only written so because to wait and watch was already our custom. There was a time when we created that story, Eifton; but now it creates us." Do men create stories, or do stories create men? Can a man decide whether to be creator or creation, or does he have no choice? This, I suppose, is the real heart of my novel. Anyway, I hope you enjoy even this brief and unpolished legend. I will post more of my novel periodically, but not too much, since I wish to keep it secure of course. Much more will be posted on the writing blog I set up, "The Radish Room".

(PS-Since this legend is currently written as reference for me more than in its final, novel-prologue style, it's probably going to be confusing. Lots of name-dropping, and a general feeling of in medias res. I'm very interested, however, in just how confusing it is, so I can know what information I should add in, and what I can leave out--keeping in mind that some things will be explained in detail in the first real chapters of the novel. So comment and let me know what you think! I'd really appreciate it ^_^)

It was in the waning, desperate years of the first war between Elf and Ieldra when the Elven princes Isfalor and Athelye sent out missives to the clans of men asking for aid in war, for they had always had most friendship with men since the days before the sun and moon. But many long years had passed since the days of Tor the Elf-friend, though no grey yet touched the hair of Isfalor called Fairest of the Edyire. Men had begun already to grow proud, and to name lands with new names as though for the first time, and to forget the deeds of their far fathers, and friendships made between the Elf-folk and their sires. So it was that the summons went unanswered, save only by one man.

He would be remembered as Eitoken, He Who Watches Always, and was at the time a only a poor man, though well liked in his clan, and the summons--borne by a rider dressed all in silver and red and with harness of red gold, who leapt as it were from the embers of the fires where stories were told to children about the Elven folk and their deeds--set his heart ablaze with desire to look upon the great war hosts of the Eldest race and to count himself among their number in the great conflict to come, and to see also for himself the faces of the lords of that host, who were older than the sun and moon, and yet not old to look upon. So when others would have bade the call no heed, he sprang to his feet and swore then his aid, and his enthusiasm caught in the hearts of many and shamed still more, so that with it was a force of nearly all his clan he came to the encampment. There he was brought into the presence of the three princes Athelye, Otiru, and Isfalor tallest of them all, and the King Arael their brother, and their sister the lady Mihrenna, who glittered in the lamplight like a withe of steel shot with starlight. They bade him courteous welcome, but it was Isfalor who was most pleased. And Eitoken was enchanted by the prince’s comeliness, spirit, and courtesy.

So Isfalor would have assigned Eitoken and his men to Otiru’s wing, as that was the weaker, but Eitoken spoke up in protest and said: “I serve thee, lord, and fight for thee, lord, and follow thee, lord, or not at all.” And the Elf’s captains looked with shock at the Man, surprised at this ragged, crude arrogance, and thought it ill of him to have such pride. Moreover, they were somewhat angered at the Man’s presumption to their lord. But Isfalor smiled, who smiled so seldom then, and answered “It shall be as you wish, son of Man,” and gave orders that some of his own soldiers should fight alongside Otiru, and for Eitoken to be, with his men, equipped and stationed among the Elves of his own force.

Battle came, and ever Isfalor was where the fighting was hottest, and the greatest assault was against his army, for the fear and the fury with which the Ieldrae held him who had been the first of the Elven people to know hate. And Isfalor and the warriors of Ehrunien suffered heavy losses, but wreaked havoc upon the enemy, and did not waver. Eitoken fought so he was close by Isfalor, and so saw when the prince’s horse was shot from beneath him, so that he fell--but he in falling leapt from the saddle so that his feet were not tangled in the harness, and so he avoided being crushed, though he did strike the ground. But Eitoken saw, and leapt forward to the prince’s defense, keeping the enemy back for the few moments it took for Isfalor to recover and get to his feet.

The Ieldrae ultimately were routed and fled, and routed most due to Isfalor. But many of his men were killed, and all save three of those who had followed Eitoken were dead. And Eitoken, exhausted with the long fighting, wrapped himself in his cloak and slept for two days.

It was then time for him to depart, but first Isfalor summoned him. And when he came, he saw the prince had done off his battle gear, though his hair was shorn always for battle, and he was richly attired in forest green and red gold. He greeted the man kindly, and with the honor due to a great friend. And he said, “You alone answered the summons, and ‘twas thou who swore to fight for my banner and none else. And well did you prove yourself to me, then upon the third day of the fight. Perhaps without your aid I would now be slain, and this but a little while ere the wedding of my sister. Accept my thanks.” And Eitoken bowed, bewildered and delighted, and said nothing. And then he said, haltingly: “I think you would not have died.” Isfalor looked and saw the child-faith and worship in the man’s eyes, and was silent a moment. Then he said: “You remind me of one I knew long ago”, as though speaking to himself. And then he took from his belt a slim stabbing-dirk of gold, brother to his own sword, and held it out to Eitoken, saying, “Take this as a sign of my favor, and of thy faith. And one day shall I call thee, and for the love for me which you bear and that gift of my regard which I have given to then, then do thou come, and we shall go forth to battle together once more, you and I. And thou shalt go upon my right hand like as a brother, man and elf, and there shall our glory be wrought, and none shall withstand us!”

And he gave then to Eitoken a little gift of land, at the the south-eastern border of the Elvare, and granted to him and all his heirs dominion over that dark wood, and safety from all its perils, that they might travel it and see its wonders which he had loved when he himself was young. And Eitoken took both dirk and land, and with those three faithful of his men and their wives he raised what would come to be known as the Mistkeep, and he and his heirs dwelt there forever, awaiting the summons.

It never came, for that battle was the last of Isfalor’s life, and not long after he would be slain in ambush by Iestol in the high passes of the Elvare. That deed spurred the Elven folk to so great a fury that they destroyed the Ieldrae in battle utterly save only those who retreated into the deepest tunnels of the Labyrinth their old home and hid there for many generations of men; this was the long peacetime between the two wars, and broken only when Calhui Eldrason, the halfblood child of Alinando Ieldra and Caerwen princess of the Elves, slew the Elven high king and stole the Crown from him to deliver it to his father’s people. And this second war wrought the ruin of the Elven people.

And all this time the Masters of Mistkeep remained in their quiet corner of the world, ever faithful to their charge, and ever waiting, for Isfalor the prince of Ehrunien was long dead, and no one else remembered the man Eitoken and the oath given to him.